Wax and Wane
by lamentomori
Summary: "You alternate between the two, dripping icy water and hot wax, making him jerk and flinch, never certain which he'd be getting next." (7 Sins continuity) Warnings: 2nd person Colt PoV, Slash (Colt/Punk), Smut, Profanity,Sensation Play (hot wax & ice).


Warnings: 2nd person Colt PoV, Slash (Colt/Punk), Smut, Profanity, Sensation Play (hot wax & ice)

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"The fuck? The power out or something?" He sounds deeply unimpressed with the set up you've got in the hotel room. "If this is your attempt at being romantic, I'm getting my own room." He mutters and you shake your head at him and get off the bed. You take his bag and set it by your own near the door.

"Shut up, Punkers." You kiss him, languid and deep.

"I'm not a-" He starts talking as soon as you break the kiss to breath.

"Shut up." You kiss him again.

"Not a wo-" Really, he doesn't take hints well.

"Shut up." You press him back against the door and kiss him a third time, your hands cupping his face, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones.

"Am I allowed to talk yet?" He sounds slightly breathless as you break the kiss, still absently stroking his face.

"Nope, I know _exactly_ what you're going to say, Punkers. _I'm not a woman, Cabana. I don't need fucking candles and flowers and stop fucking laughing at me, fucker._" You think your impression of him is pretty good, better than his impression of you at least. He's scowling at you though and kicks your shin.

"Don't sound like that." You swear he's pouting like a petulant child but note that he doesn't dispute that's what he was going to say. "I don't see any flowers, fucker." You shrug, he does have you there, there aren't any flowers in the room, candles though, plenty of candles. "You gonna tell me why the room looks like the set of some shitty chick flick or not, fucker?" He squirms out from where you've got him pinned to the door and kicks off his sneakers, throws his jacket at the chair in the corner, strips and flops down on the bed. The candlelight softening his features, picking out the more golden tones of his natural hair colour that peeks through at the roots, the peroxide blond even looks prettier for the lower lighting, his eyes seem brighter, his skin a softer shade of tan, in short he looks gorgeous, an unexpected but welcome by-product of your idea.

"I was thinking." You sit on the end of the bed and catch his feet.

"Oh? Strain something?" He wriggles his toes and you tickle the sole of one foot, he kicks at you but you catch his leg before it connects.

"I have an idea; I think you'll like it." You snake your hand up his leg to stroke his calf, skin still smooth from when he shaved for you.

"I'm never getting vanilla sex again, am I?" He mutters as you raise his leg and kiss his ankle softly.

"You're the one who started with the kinky shit, Punkers." You mutter, letting his leg drop. You get off the bed and start blowing out the candles. You hear him scrambling to his feet behind you.

"Wait, _wait_! I never said I didn't _like_ the kinky shit." He presses himself against your back, his arms wrapping around your chest hugging you tightly to him. "What's this _idea_?" You shake your head.

"Nothing." Moving around the room with a two hundred pound limpet on your back isn't easy but you manage, blowing the candles out, only the trio by the bed remain when he sandbags against your back, his weight forcing you to collapse on the bed. "Come on, Punk, get off me. You must be tired, you had a hard match." You try to wriggle out from under him but he clings to you tightly.

"C'mon, tell me, I'm interested." He speaks softly in your ear.

"It's nothing, sleep." You try to free yourself again.

"Fine, fuck you." He mutters and lets you go. You smirk to yourself, just a little more. "Don't tell me." He gets off of you and flops back down on the bed, scowling down at you as you stay lying where you'd collapsed.

"Do you trust me?" You ask him, crawling up the bed to lean over his prone, naked form; he raises his eyebrow at you.

"Good sense tells me that the answer to that question should always be, no." You frown at him and he sighs. "But, yes, I trust you." You smirk and pull a roll of athletic tape from under the pillows.

"Lemme tie you up and blindfold you." You grin at him and he looks surprised.

"Asshole, you had this fucking planned!" You laugh at him.

"You're kind of predictable, Punkers." You kiss him softly and chuckle, taking his offered wrist and wrapping some of the tape around it then catching his other wrist and binding the two together, once they're bound you raise them over his head and secure his arms to the headboard, he tugs at his bindings instinctively and you smile when they don't give. "Okay?" You ask him, stroking his bottom lip; he nods and nips at your thumb. You grab the black scarf you'd found cheap in a store from under the pillow where you'd stashed it along with the lube and tape, he picks his head up and lets you secure it over his eyes. At that moment, you're sorely tempted not to carry out your idea fully, he always looks so good bound and helpless, the blindfold merely adds to his appeal right then. You get off the bed and stare at him, bound to the bed and blind, his legs shift restlessly, trying to work out where you are, you suppose.

"Fucker? Where'd you go?" You smile softly, move to the head of the bed and press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose.

"Be right back, Punkers." You leave the room, glad the ice machine is close, as you close the door you can hear him swearing up a storm. You fill the ice bucket quickly, knowing the longer you leave him tied up in there, the more annoyed and less into this he'll be.

"Motherfucking, piece of shit, son of a bitch, I gonna fucking _kill_ you!" He's squirming, trying to wriggle out of his bindings and still swearing when you enter the room.

"And to think, I let you kiss my mother with that mouth, Punkers." You say mildly as you interrupt his tirade

"Your mother loves me more than you." You shrug, on one hand that's likely true, on the other, you're certain your mother doesn't love him half as much as you do, he's your _best_ friend after all, to your mother he's just an extra son, albeit the nice one that doesn't complain about her cooking. For a man who doesn't speak to his actual mother, Punkers has done a fine job of collecting replacements. "One day, I'm gonna gag you." You tell him as you set the bucket down by the candles.

"Bullshit, Cabana, you wouldn't dare." He snaps, the problem with the blindfold is that it covers his eyes, the best gauge of his moods; you think, based on his tone and the way he's laying still that his irritation at you leaving the room has passed.

"Hmm, maybe, maybe not." You get undressed and consider how best to start this, which spot would be the best. You sit cross-legged on the bed near his head and stroke down the centre of his chest, dipping your finger into his belly button briefly before taking his cock in your hand, stroking him a few times. There is a tempting starting point but you decide against it, somewhere he's used to pain you think would be better. You pick up one of the candles and wait for him to start talking because you _know_ he's going to.

"So wha-ah!" As he spoke, you let a single drop of wax land on his chest, between his pectoral muscles. "The fuck?" You smile as his eyebrows knit, confusion on his face briefly, just as he's realising what it was you did to him, you do it again, a little lower down this time, another drip of white wax onto his softly tanned skin. He gasps as the hot wax lands on him.

"You say stop a-"

"And you stop, I know, I know." His voice is surprisingly sharp, you drip more wax on him, lower still, just above the tattoo on his stomach and the sharpness in his voice fades as he makes another soft moan.

"I'm serious, Phil, you don't like it, you tell me." He snorts and nods.

"I'll tell you, now get on with it, fucker." You kiss him softly and drip a little wax in his belly button, his hips jerk up and he makes an odd little noise. You drizzle a little line of wax down from there, closer to his cock and he squirms, panting and muttering fuck under his breath, you stop dripping the wax just before the root of his cock. You by-pass his gentiles, not quite trusting yourself to drip wax on him there this time, maybe next time, if there is a next time, when you've got a better understanding where he likes it and how much he can handle. You've been dripping the wax from quite a height so far, so as you move to his thigh you hold the candle a little lower, giving the wax less time to cool before it hits his skin. His leg twitches when the wax hits it and he makes an odd keening noise. You set the candle back in its holder and fish one of the ice cubes out of the bucket, running it over the wax you just dribbled on his thigh, cooling the heat and he makes another odd little noise. It wasn't part of the original plan but perhaps the ice will be able to add to this scene. You circle one of his nipples with the ice cube, his back arcing up towards your hand, once the flesh is peaked and hard you toss the cube back in the bucket and pick up the candle again, dripping a little wax on it.

"Ah, fuck!" You smirk down at him, the effect wasted, seeing as he's blindfolded.

"Feel good?" You ask him, dribbling a little more wax into his belly button, making his hips jerk again, you decide then it's your goal to fill that little cavity with wax before you're finished with this.

"Hmm?" He moans. "Get on with it, fucker." He mutters, distracted clearly trying to guess if you're going to drip more wax on him or rub the ice over his body again. You alternate between the two, using up two of the candles and most of the ice, now almost entirely melted in the bucket. In the end, in place of rubbing him with it, alternating dripping icy water and hot wax, making him jerk and flinch, never certain which he'd be getting next. He's panting and breathless as you stare at him.

"You okay, Punkers?" You smile down at your handy work, his body, from his chest to his thighs, is covered in little drips and squiggles of wax. His belly button filled to overflowing. He nods vaguely, panting too much to answer. His cock is hard, dripping from the occasional strokes you'd given him, your own cock is painfully hard; you lube your fingers and ease one inside of him, fucking it in and out of him quickly, his hips buck against you.

"More." You oblige him and ease a second finger into him, stretching him open and an idea suddenly comes to you, you pick the largest of the mostly melted ice cubes from the bucket and slide it into him. He hisses through his teeth, legs spreading wider, planting his feet on the bed, jerking his hips awkwardly. You slide a finger into him and press the rapidly melting cube against his prostate. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, Colt. C'mon, stop!" You pull your finger from him and untie the blindfold; he blinks at you looking confused as you reach to unbind his wrists. "No! Not _stop_, just I can't take any more, _fuck me_." He looks so very desperate; you smile at him, stroking his damp hair.

"You sure?" Your hand is still hovering over the tape holding his wrists to the bed-frame.

"Fuck me, Colt." You nod and blow the remaining candle out, the room solely lit by the streetlights filtering through the cheap curtains, you move so that you're between his spread legs, lube your cock and ease into him, his legs wrapping around you, you feel the dried wax on his thighs, hard and cracking with his movements. "Hard." He says and you kiss him, pull out fully then slam back into him, his body jerking beneath you, he lacks the leverage to thrust against you so his legs cling to you, squeezing you tightly, urging you to fuck him, hard and fast. He's a moaning beautiful mess beneath you, the wax flaking off as you pry his legs from around you and drape them over your shoulders, bending him in half, grateful for his flexibility, something you think vaguely you should test more often, he can twist himself into some interestingly provocative positions really. He moans as the new position lets you fuck him even more deeply, his heels digging into your back. "Harder." You roll your eyes and kiss his gently as a counterpoint to the harder, deeper thrusts you're using, sacrificing speed for power, which seems to be what he wants, he's moaning into the kiss, his heels are going to leave bruises at this rate you think to yourself. You take a hold of his cock when you pull away from the kiss, stroking him quickly, feeling his length twitch in your hand; it only takes a few strokes to bring him off, his body trembling beneath you, as he moans what is possibly a rendition of your name. You focus on your own ending, as he lays gazing up at you, eyes hazy and soft, your thrusts short, sharp and fast. You come with your face pressed against his neck and catch your breath whilst pressing soft kisses there. He moves his legs from your shoulders and you flick the lights on by reaching for the switch a little above the bed. You pull out of his body and begin to unbind his arms, rubbing them to get the blood flowing again; he's looking up at you with a softly sleepy smile. You cup his cheek and kiss him, can feel the sleepiness leaving him as you do so, mourning it's loss but aware that at least you won't have to try and clean him up whilst he's sleeping. By the time, you break the kiss he seems his normal, slightly salty self.

"How the fuck am I supposed to get this shit off of me?" He's mutters, picking at the drips and drops of wax on his chest, clearly forgetting about the rest of him.

"Carefully?" You suggest helpfully and start gently working on clearing his thighs.

"Helpful, Cabana, real fucking helpful, asshole." He mutters taking a swipe at your head, you grin up at him.

"I thought so!" He scowls and yelps as you pull a particularly large section of wax from his left thigh.

"Asshole!" You lick over where the wax was, underneath his skin a little red but otherwise looking unharmed.

"Bitch." You mutter and lick the spot again, still carefully picking at the wax. "So did you like it?" You ask him, stretching the skin around the next piece of wax you intend to remove.

"Hmm." He mutters, picking the little blob of wax out from his belly button and suddenly makes a noise that from anyone else would be a giggle, from him, you're certain he'd declare it a manly chortle, chuckle maybe.

"What?"

"My belly button." He holds the little bit of wax up and seems utterly incapable of keeping from laughing. There is one thing you can say in favour of the kinky shit; it always puts him in such a ridiculously good mood. You sigh, shaking your head; the wax removal is clearly not going to progress any further tonight, between laughs he's yawning.

"C'mon, sleep, we'll get you clean up in the morning." He laughs again, sets the little wax mould of his belly button on the table by the bed and flicks off the lights, you settle on the bed behind him.

"I want more of these, it's fucking hilarious." He says as he pulls your arms around him, making himself comfortably the little spoon.

"I'll take that as you enjoyed it then, shall I?" You know you sound incredibly smug as you squeeze him tightly.

"G'night Cabana." He yawns again clearly ignoring your comment so you press a soft kiss to the crown of his head, if he wants a collection of belly button moulds, the next one's going to be red, you think as you drift off to sleep.

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_A/N Wax and Wane - idiom meaning to grow stronger and to grow weaker. I was sorely tempted to call it IcyHot though..._

_**alizabethianrose** I hope that this did justice to your little prompt_

**_Reviews are always nice, so if you enjoyed it or if you hated let me know. Requests or smutty prompts are always cheerfully accepted. :3_**


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